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Still a little lost, but nonetheless here for it, Benedict does as requested and holds out his hand. In the meantime, he glances over Colin, quirking a little smile back up at his face as he does: whatever the case, he seems like he's still doing all right.
Colin tips the bottle of oil into Benedict's hand, just a little before he's putting it back down. There's a second's hesitation, as he is torn between what he wants and what he fears. His hand leaves Benedict and flattens against the bed, giving himself support so he can straddle the other man.
"I want--" His voice catches, and he swallows and tries again. "I want you to finger me."
"I want--" His voice catches, and he swallows and tries again. "I want you to finger me."
As the oil touches Benedict's hand, he begins to spread it around over his fingers, as one does, in a motion that's more automatic than intentional. He pauses when Colin speaks, and although he looks slightly surprised by the request, he nods silently, glancing him over and then beginning to blush.
This is farther than he's ever gone. "I, ah..." he begins, and murmurs, "...will you tell me how?"
This is farther than he's ever gone. "I, ah..." he begins, and murmurs, "...will you tell me how?"
[ Benedict isn't going to Nevarra. Oviously. He isn't going anywhere for some time. And the days everyone is away from the Gallows, leaving the courtyards and dining halls quiet and empty for the few people staying behind, probably won't feel more or less lonely to Benedict than any other day. And he might not even know what day it is or when the holiday is occurring.
But in case Bastien, like, dies, or something, and never comes back to Kirkwall, and leaves him giftless forever, he's doing it before they leave. So. ]
Hello.
[ There's a book under his arm. It isn't wrapped or anything. ]
But in case Bastien, like, dies, or something, and never comes back to Kirkwall, and leaves him giftless forever, he's doing it before they leave. So. ]
Hello.
[ There's a book under his arm. It isn't wrapped or anything. ]
[Benedict is lying on the floor when Bastien arrives, staring at the ceiling, though he angles his head to observe the visitor. He looks a little out of it, like he’s been focusing hard and was interrupted.]
Hello.
[He’s still cautiously interested, at least.]
Hello.
[He’s still cautiously interested, at least.]
[ That's something. Bastien smiles a faint smile—one with a little pity in it, but not too much pity. The first rule of betraying nearly everyone Bastien knows to help a country invading his homeland is at least be good at it. ]
Most of us will be gone for Satinalia. So I have your gift early.
[ He turns the book out from where it's tucked, displaying the cover: Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi. (It's much thicker and much more detailed than twelve codex entries, of course.) ]
Cheerful, light reading.
Most of us will be gone for Satinalia. So I have your gift early.
[ He turns the book out from where it's tucked, displaying the cover: Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi. (It's much thicker and much more detailed than twelve codex entries, of course.) ]
Cheerful, light reading.
A gift?
[Benedict sits up, perplexed, trying not to be excited.]
I can’t have—
[He pauses.]
It’s Satinalia?
[Benedict sits up, perplexed, trying not to be excited.]
I can’t have—
[He pauses.]
It’s Satinalia?
Nearly.
[ He takes a guess where that line of questioning is headed. ]
It is not a prank. [ He flips it open to display the pages, which aren’t glued together or blank or anything of the sort. ] Someone put your name in for our gift exchange, and I spoke with the leaders—
[ One leader. ]
—and you can have a book. If you do not vandalize it or try to bludgeon anyone with it, I will see if we can trade it for another in a few weeks.
[ He takes a guess where that line of questioning is headed. ]
It is not a prank. [ He flips it open to display the pages, which aren’t glued together or blank or anything of the sort. ] Someone put your name in for our gift exchange, and I spoke with the leaders—
[ One leader. ]
—and you can have a book. If you do not vandalize it or try to bludgeon anyone with it, I will see if we can trade it for another in a few weeks.
Really??
[His excitement is palpable, his eyes suddenly brimming as he gets to his feet and rushes to the bars. There has never been a more grateful face.]
I can? It’s not a trick? Really?
[If Bastien gets too close, he risks being kissed.]
[His excitement is palpable, his eyes suddenly brimming as he gets to his feet and rushes to the bars. There has never been a more grateful face.]
I can? It’s not a trick? Really?
[If Bastien gets too close, he risks being kissed.]
[ As much as Bastien loves unwashed Tevinter prisoners, he’s not wild about mages, leashed somehow or not. He keeps his distance. But he holds the book out close enough to be reached, and if Benedict goes for it he won’t even do the teasing jerk out of reach thing. Not once. That’s practically a second gift. ]
I am trusting you, [ he says, which is more of a warning than a compliment, ] to not make me look like an idiot for arguing this was a good idea.
I am trusting you, [ he says, which is more of a warning than a compliment, ] to not make me look like an idiot for arguing this was a good idea.
[Taking the book, Benedict shakes his head quickly, already almost too enthralled by being allowed such an object to assure Bastien he won’t be an idiot.]
Thank you, [he says after a moment, turning toward him with the book held to his chest.]
I just— thank you.
Thank you, [he says after a moment, turning toward him with the book held to his chest.]
I just— thank you.
Benedict,
I've been forbidden, in no uncertain terms, from seeing you. This letter is goodbye, since Flint won't let me say goodbye in person.
If you keep resting and do everything the healers tell you to do, you shouldn't be long recovering. When you go back to your cell, make sure you stay close to your brazier and take deep breaths of warm air. I'm sorry this is our lot now. I hope you make another friend soon so that you can still have a visitor, but I think you'll be fine. You're capable of everything you need to be. This might even be good for you, having me out of the way.
I know I promised I would tell you when you would see me next, but that's not possible right now. I'm sorry.
Be strong and don't give up.
Colin
I've been forbidden, in no uncertain terms, from seeing you. This letter is goodbye, since Flint won't let me say goodbye in person.
If you keep resting and do everything the healers tell you to do, you shouldn't be long recovering. When you go back to your cell, make sure you stay close to your brazier and take deep breaths of warm air. I'm sorry this is our lot now. I hope you make another friend soon so that you can still have a visitor, but I think you'll be fine. You're capable of everything you need to be. This might even be good for you, having me out of the way.
I know I promised I would tell you when you would see me next, but that's not possible right now. I'm sorry.
Be strong and don't give up.
Colin
The staff is a limb, and an afterthought.
It was a precious liability to bring it along their flight North. Too near a sign of what they are. Abandoned back in camp, it might have slowed pursuit — at least a little. Can imagine: She'd never leave without it,
And she didn't, did she? Only that it was all a lot of work for what's been sitting wrapped in the rags from the haycart for going on weeks. There's been no reason to remove them. No one really needs a staff in peace.
The summer sun pools into lines of earth and hedge, swallowed up save for the sudden gleam of something sharper. Planted criss-cross in a row of the garden, Alais carefully strips the stave of its wrapping, reveals the hard geometry of onyx-polished lines.
Unmistakably expensive work, and all the more unmistakably Tevene.
It was a precious liability to bring it along their flight North. Too near a sign of what they are. Abandoned back in camp, it might have slowed pursuit — at least a little. Can imagine: She'd never leave without it,
And she didn't, did she? Only that it was all a lot of work for what's been sitting wrapped in the rags from the haycart for going on weeks. There's been no reason to remove them. No one really needs a staff in peace.
The summer sun pools into lines of earth and hedge, swallowed up save for the sudden gleam of something sharper. Planted criss-cross in a row of the garden, Alais carefully strips the stave of its wrapping, reveals the hard geometry of onyx-polished lines.
Unmistakably expensive work, and all the more unmistakably Tevene.
Edited (too many adjectives) 2020-07-11 06:28 (UTC)
She'll feel eyes on her before she hears anything, because Benedict goes stock-still when he sees it. He's behind Alais, wheelbarrow full of mulch in front of him, it's squeaking wheel falling silent when he connects the dots.
The question in his mind: what is a Tevene staff-- and mage?-- doing in the garden where he works, and should he run before she notices him.
The question in his mind: what is a Tevene staff-- and mage?-- doing in the garden where he works, and should he run before she notices him.
For a moment it’s a stupid little test of wills — or whatever you call the opposite. Alais sits stock in place, aware of his presence, and just as clearly hesitating to turn.
The pads of her fingers dig in sharp, pricked not to blood (what an awful idea that would be), but the imprint of shape. She turns,
Feels a bit stupid for it: Flushed cheeks, and the ragged shape of a gardener; and who else did she expect to find in a garden, anyway?
“Did you need the path …?”
As though she can’t think of any better reason to stare.
The pads of her fingers dig in sharp, pricked not to blood (what an awful idea that would be), but the imprint of shape. She turns,
Feels a bit stupid for it: Flushed cheeks, and the ragged shape of a gardener; and who else did she expect to find in a garden, anyway?
“Did you need the path …?”
As though she can’t think of any better reason to stare.
The path is clear, and that is clearly not the case.
And Benedict is a shit liar.
He shakes his head, and, with the girl now turned towards him, he at least can see that she isn't angry or about to slit her wrist and hex him to death.
"...where'd you get that?" He nods toward the staff.
And Benedict is a shit liar.
He shakes his head, and, with the girl now turned towards him, he at least can see that she isn't angry or about to slit her wrist and hex him to death.
"...where'd you get that?" He nods toward the staff.
And there it is —
Not the question, but the tongue behind it. What the Minrathousian upper crust is doing with a wheelbarrow in Kirkwall seems, you know, more relevant. Alais doesn't have a face composed for careful diplomacy; at the moment, she best resembles an owl presented with a particularly confusing rat. Head tipped one way, then the other,
"I brought it," Is stalling, really. "Are you...?"
What exactly.
Not the question, but the tongue behind it. What the Minrathousian upper crust is doing with a wheelbarrow in Kirkwall seems, you know, more relevant. Alais doesn't have a face composed for careful diplomacy; at the moment, she best resembles an owl presented with a particularly confusing rat. Head tipped one way, then the other,
"I brought it," Is stalling, really. "Are you...?"
What exactly.
He doesn't trust her owlish curiosity for an instant-- not with the way things have been, not how he left things with his home country.
"A gardener," he answers evasively, catching the lilt of her dialect as well. Not an Altus, at least, or at least not one he knows. There are always cousins and bastards that don't fit the mold but have their uses.
"A gardener," he answers evasively, catching the lilt of her dialect as well. Not an Altus, at least, or at least not one he knows. There are always cousins and bastards that don't fit the mold but have their uses.
It's late evening, the time when normal folk would be bedding down for the night (and thus not a time that most of Riftwatch is actually sleeping because they're a bunch of nocturnal weirdos). Wherever Benedict happens upon her, he'll find that Athessa is rather intently staring at one particular stone in the wall, turning her head as if...listening.
Benedict is, like a normal well-adjusted person, actually heading to bed, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Athessa just standing there and facing the wall where he wasn't expecting her.
"What are you doing!" he hisses, clasping a hand to his chest, "you scared the shit out of me, Athessa!"
"What are you doing!" he hisses, clasping a hand to his chest, "you scared the shit out of me, Athessa!"
Bene has seen Athessa when she's high, and this... this isn't quite High Athessa. This is a different beast, and he fears it intrinsically, but he also isn't going to tell it no. He gingerly leans closer to the wall, as instructed.
His face already a mask of horror and bewilderment, Benedict shakes his head at her. He listens for a few seconds longer, and then something seems to click.
"Don't get used to this," he mutters, and steps closer to her, pressing the palm of his hand against her heart.
"Make the noise for me again."
All the fretting has melted away into something like irritation, but only because he knows how completely he was about to buy that there was a monster in the wall, and sometimes a guy just gets tired of himself.
"Don't get used to this," he mutters, and steps closer to her, pressing the palm of his hand against her heart.
"Make the noise for me again."
All the fretting has melted away into something like irritation, but only because he knows how completely he was about to buy that there was a monster in the wall, and sometimes a guy just gets tired of himself.
Incredulity, confusion, dumbfoundedness, all great words to describe Athessa's feelings about Bene's hand over her heart. Does he know he's practically touching her boob? She looks at him, at his hand, at him, his hand. But she slowly brings her own hands up to clap the rhythm softly. Tum-tum, tum-tum.
"What're you—?"
"What're you—?"
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